


Ancient Blood

by clementineswings



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M, Gen, Retelling, Skyrim Main Quest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:54:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24298417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clementineswings/pseuds/clementineswings
Summary: Elisweyth awakes in the back of a rickety cart to a brand new world, and a dire situation: She was to be executed for a crime she did not commit. Moments before her gruesome death, she is rescued by something she did not expect: a dragon. She witnesses the destruction a small town and in the chaos, it gives her chance to escape.This leaves her with many questions. Who was the beast, and why are those who planned her end asking for her help?
Relationships: Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Farkas
Comments: 4
Kudos: 2





	Ancient Blood

The sun rose lazily over the walls of Whiterun, its rays peering over the grey, cracked stone, illuminating the intricately designed homes of the citizens. Today it seemed, the early morning sun revealed a seemingly abandoned settlement. The twisting, cracked cobblestone roads were empty; no busy merchants shouting their goods to every passerby who would listen, nor were there any housewives crowding around the well.

There was no gossiping about the Jarl and his dominating demeanor or the male companions like clucking hens. Today, Whiterun lacked these simple pleasures, their cackling seemed a fading melody.

The guards were the only souls that walked the roads that day, their leather boots slapping softly and the clinking of their swords against the stone bounced from home to home create a cacophony of tension and fear. They spoke hurriedly among themselves, barely above a whisper, about how many of their rank had been cut down mid-battle by  
the escaping Stormcloaks.

They told stories of how the Imperial soldiers had been brutally slit from belly to chin, their life blood spilling and spurting from the gaping wounds, or burned in the middle of a battle cry by the Evil One. None survived it, whimpered one young woman, her voice cracking so sharply it echoed, cutting through the sweltering summer air and tears staining her face behind the steel mask. Another offered no comfort, insulting her very basic intelligence, saying that a lower rank soldier had survived, Hadvar and a horse thief. Though the truth was harsh, none knew if they had truly made it from the fort, nor would they know until someone from Riverrun travelled north.

It was while the guards patrolled, the loyal citizens resided inside, huddled close to their families. There had been much talk among the farmers and merchants of the events of Morndas the previous day, children whispering repeated tales of dragons burning brave men and women in its hellfire.

The merchants shared tall tales of how they swore to the Divines that they had seen the underbelly of the great beast that had destroyed Helgen in one great, fell swoop as it flew over. They told their tall tales to whomever would offer an ear selling around the warming blaze in the heart of the tavern. They mimicked the flying of the great beasts in such a great exaggeration that they fell over affected by the strength of Mead. The merchants would laugh, but beneath their feeble masks laid a fear that rivaled the children that roamed Whiterun by day. The fire that crackled softly, barely audible, served as a grim reminder for the patrons of that remained of the once bustling fortress of Helgen.

From refugees to Imperial soldiers, the citizens had the unimaginable horrors slowly revealed to them. The homes gutted by the Earth scorching fires that still held the charred, faceless, utterly lifeless corpses of Skyrim's sons and daughters. Their children still wandering the streets looking for any solace of their once crowded home. There was also tell of Bandits taking unaffected food and treasures from marital chests, and from the pockets of fading, worn clothing.

Soon, it cleared like a raging storm in the evening sky and and truth became all too apparent: the looming civil war between the Imperials and Stormcloaks and the great beasts that hunted all of Skyrim's children, that they had something much more horrific than a beast coming towards their humble settlement. It was a fate worse than all of the hellfire, and it was not something the Jarl and his Housecarl could negotiate their way out of with honeyed words and Balgruuf's reserve of gold. It was war; pure, unadultered choas.


End file.
